


I Think I Wanna Marry You

by khasael



Series: Hale and Hearty [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Impromptu Decisions, Las Vegas, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Marriage, Sexual Tension, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The closer they get to Vegas, the more Stiles expects Derek to call the whole thing off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think I Wanna Marry You

**Author's Note:**

> This makes much more sense if you've read parts one and two :)

The closer they get to Vegas, the more Stiles expects Derek to call the whole thing off. 

He expects it when Derek opens his mouth five minutes after Stiles starts heading for Las Vegas, but all Derek does is ask if Stiles wants the last piece of KitKat. (Yes, of course he does.)

He expects it when they hit a bit of construction in the road and are stuck behind a couple of semis for nearly ten miles, unable to pass, but Derek just settles back against the seat and asks if Stiles wants to stop somewhere for breakfast, or eat on the road. (They stop, and Stiles feels totally justified in the decision, because those waffles were _amazing_.)

Derek also doesn't insist they turn around when they stop a second time for gas, or when the radio in the Jeep stops picking up any clear stations, or when they leave I-5, or even when they merge onto I-15 and start to see more signs directing them into Nevada.

What he _does_ do is buy Stiles another Mountain Dew and some beef jerky at the gas station, ask Stiles how he feels about going to college in a couple of months, and actually chat now and then. The closest he comes to looking regretful about the whole plan is when he asks if Stiles's dad will freak out that Stiles didn't come home last night.

"No," Stiles tells him, shaking his head and wishing he had sunglasses for the drive, because that sun is really bright this morning. "He's at some sort of training and convention thing in San Jose for a week. As long as I check in once a day or so, he won't worry. And I texted him at the last gas station, asking how the work stuff was going. Apparently, it's boring, but informative. He probably feels everything is too tame, now that he's more used to the whole supernatural thing going on in Beacon Hills."

Derek nods, and doesn't say much else until they officially cross into Nevada. It's late morning, and Stiles wishes the Jeep had good, functioning air conditioning, because it's hot out in the desert. "Look, I was thinking..." Derek says, voice only barely carrying over the wind rushing in through the open windows.

"Yeah, don't hurt yourself," Stiles says, unable to help himself. When Derek doesn't continue, Stiles glances at him. Derek looks uncomfortable, and Stiles feels guilty. "No, seriously though, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, I know this is just some sort of...adventure, of sorts? I know that we're just making a point, doing something dumb because we can. But I don't really want to do some two a.m. quickie wedding, with you too drunk to stand up, with us wearing old, sweaty clothes from yesterday, and sleeping in some motel with questionably clean bedding. Yes, the whole concept is to do something impulsive and irresponsible, but hell, we could at least spring for a nice night or two in Las Vegas, right?"

"How nice are we talking?" Stiles asks, chewing his bottom lip. He has a fair amount of spending money at his disposal, a good chunk of it from an after-school job and some from graduation gifts, but he doesn't really know about breaking the bank for this. Though that _would_ be a little closer to the experience of a Vegas wedding Stiles had always thought of.

"I don't know. I'm not saying we should drop ten grand or anything—" He waits until Stiles stops choking on air to continue, "—but maybe we each buy a clean outfit, look and smell somewhat less like vagrants, and stay at a hotel, maybe even with room service, or a buffet. I'll pay for the room. Hell, maybe we can even do the casino thing for a couple of hours. Well, I could. You're not twenty-one." The realization makes Derek's face go a little scrunched, and Stiles waves him off, because he doesn't want Derek to look like that, like he's regretting things.

"I could maybe be down with some penny slots," Stiles says enthusiastically. "Or even nickel slots, if I want to feel like a high roller."

Derek chuckles, and Stiles tries not to think about how good it makes him feel whenever he gets a genuine laugh out of Derek. Derek is a guy who hasn't laughed _nearly_ enough in his adult life, which is a shame, because it makes him look younger, makes him actually seem like a normal guy without a tortured past, and is actually really endearing. "Yeah. Mister Adventurous. Big risk-taker."

"Hey. I think getting married less than twenty-four hours after almost getting eaten by something out in the woods—and to a guy who has previously threatened to rip out my throat and rip my head off—is plenty adventurous."

"Fair enough. But seriously, you're not old enough to be on the casino floor."

"Psh, that's not a problem. I have a fake ID."

"You. Have a fake ID."

"Well, yeah. Dude. Being the sheriff's kid doesn't mean you're automatically guaranteed to follow every rule ever. It just...sort of means you're a bit more knowledgeable about which ones you're breaking, and have better resources at your disposal. For research purposes. " He knows a bunch of people who have been busted for fake IDs in Beacon Hills and the surrounding towns. It also means he knows who not to get his own fake ID from, and what the most common ways are that people get caught. Also, he's not dumb enough to try to use that ID in Beacon Hills, under his dad's jurisdiction. Enough people know who he is. That would be criminally stupid (pun only sort of intended).

Child of an officer of the law. Both a curse and a blessing, sometimes.

There's not a lot of talk after that, until they get into Las Vegas itself. When they get to the Marriage License Bureau, it's a little after noon. And despite the quick process and general lack of official hassle, Stiles still feels his palms sweat a little as he takes the clipboard and attached pen and fills out his application for their marriage license. It means this is actually happening, even if it's going to be over immediately after, and will be as if it never happened, legally speaking, when it's all said and done.

Also, he's required to disclose his full, legal name as it appears on his driver's license, and he's never actually told Derek what it is.

"How the hell do you pronounce that?" Derek whispers as he leans over and looks over Stiles's form after he's filled out how own.

"Doesn't matter," Stiles tells him a little huffily. "This whole thing is a joke, right? It's not like we'll still be married by tomorrow morning."

Derek eyes him for a second before leaning even closer, murmuring, "Maybe that's not the sort of thing you should be saying while we're sitting here, trying to apply for a license."

The man has a point. Especially because Stiles used his real ID for this.

They get their license quickly enough, and Stiles is sort of disappointed to find out Derek doesn't have a dumb middle name to make fun of—doesn't have a middle name at all, actually. "Soooo," Stiles says as they climb back into the Jeep, marriage license tucked safely into the glove compartment, "what's next? Scout for chapels? Are we looking for one with Elvis? Sulu? Darth Vader? Some other celebrity impersonator?"

"Hotel first," Derek says, shaking his head. "I booked one online while you were still filling in your form."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "Look at you, being proactive. You mean we don't have to drive around forever and find one we can live with? I mean, I know you said you wanted to stay somewhere with actual clean, safe rooms, but I've seen places you've lived. I question your judgment."

Derek just smirks. "You're eating those words."

"Yeah? Well, get them to write it on the wedding cake, then."

Rolling his eyes, Derek sighs, but Stiles knows he's not mad or upset. The small, crooked smile gives it away. "Whatever. Turn right up here, at the light."

"What, you're not going to tell me where we're going?"

Derek looks up from his phone, where he's got a map and directions pulled up. "You just happen to know your way around Las Vegas?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Yeah, thought not. Just follow the directions I give you. You'll see soon."

Stiles can't honestly say where he thought they'd be staying in town, but as they get closer and closer to the Strip, he gets more and more curious. Also, a little anxious. When Derek has him exit I-15 onto Spring Mountain Road, and then actually directs him _onto_ the Strip, Stiles feels a little apprehensive. And when Derek has him pull into a resort hotel with freaking gondolas outside, Stiles thinks the look on his face might be evidence that his eyebrows have been taking lessons from Derek's when he wasn't paying attention.

"Are you fucking kidding me? The _Venetian_?"

Derek shrugs at him. "What? I got a deal on the room. Come on. Let's park and check in."

Stiles tries to get out of the Jeep gracefully, wanting to look like he belongs in a place like this, but he nearly trips over his own feet once they hit the lobby. Of course, he realizes as they head for registration, both he and Derek are wearing the same clothes they've been in for over twenty-four hours, and two of those hours were spent running around the woods. So he settles for trying not to gape at everything as he tags along after Derek, even though everything is bright and golden and warm, albeit maybe a little overdone. 

Stiles is still trying to furtively look around the place when Derek's hand lightly touches his elbow and stays there. "Come on," Derek says, that small grin back in place. "Let's get up to the room. You can freak out up there, if you want."

If Stiles had suitcases to carry, he'd drop them in the doorway of their room once the door opened, no question. "A fucking suite. You've got to be kidding."

Derek pushes lightly against Stiles's back, nudging him through the door. "The whole hotel is suites, I'm pretty sure."

Stiles can only make wordless noises for a minute, before he darts around the room, just staring at things like he's never been outside of Beacon Hills before (which he _has_ , thank you. Just never any place this fancy). There's only one bed, but it's _huge_ , and there's a sunken living room that's bigger than his bedroom at home, and the couches in there look just as comfortable as his own bed. There are two freaking TVs, and a bathroom that would probably impress even Lydia. "Holy God, dude."

"You agree to eat your words?" Derek asks, plopping down on one side of the bed and picking up the binder of information the hotel's provided.

Stiles nods vigorously and lets himself bounce on the other side of the bed. Seriously, it's huge. "Like they were curly fries."

Derek gives him a raised-eyebrow look. "Uh-huh." He flips through the binder for a few minutes, then turns towards Stiles, who's flopped completely onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I was thinking we could go out and get ourselves new clothes. I know this is supposed to be an impulsive, stupid thing, but I am not getting married, or even appearing out in public again, in these clothes. Seriously. New clothes, shower, and then we'll figure out the rest."

"You know, that's a lot more planning than most people do when they get hitched in Vegas on a whim," Stiles says, snorting. "Also, unless you plan to shop naked, you have to appear in public in them at least once more." He sits up and perches himself on one elbow, waggling his eyebrows at Derek. "I mean, you could probably get a really good discount if you got all naked for someone, but there's an equal chance you could get arrested, so it's up to you if you want to test it." He'd probably give Derek a discount, if he were a cashier. 

Derek gives him a look, but the tips of his ears turn a little pink. "Funny."

"Just sayin'." Stiles grins and wriggles his way over to Derek's side. The binder's still open on his lap, and he glances at it. "So. Where are we shopping for clothes?"

Derek shrugs. "There are a ton of places to shop. It's Vegas. Look. It's almost two, now. Why don't we each head out, take a couple of hours to find clothes and look around the Strip or whatever, and meet back here by...I don't know...six? We can figure out dinner and the other stuff then."

"Other stuff? You mean like the actual wedding part?"

Derek glances at Stiles, then looks away quickly. "Yeah. That." He looks a little uncomfortable now, and Stiles almost opens his mouth to tell him that he can back out if he really wants to, but changes his mind. It's a one-night thing. Something they'd normally regret, but done without fear of consequences. If Derek wants out of it, he can say something, and Stiles won't put up a fight. But maybe this is for Derek's own good.

Or maybe Stiles is telling himself what he thinks he needs to hear.

"Okay. We head out—separately, apparently—and rendezvous back at six. Keep your eyes peeled for any sort of themed chapel that looks promising, I guess."

Stiles takes the key Derek offers him and heads out first, wandering along the hallways until he gets to the elevator they got off of on their way up. He doesn't know if Derek's following right along behind him or not, but Stiles takes a few minutes to detour near the actual casino part of the hotel, wondering if he's got the time to play a few games on one of the machines before attempting to figure out where to shop that won't cost an arm and a leg. He's slowly approaching the casino floor when he gets a text message, and he checks it sort of absently, looking at all the flashing lights and hearing all the bells and sirens from the games.

 _Please don't get arrested for being underage on the gambling floor,_ Stiles reads, and then guiltily spins around to look behind him. But Derek's not there to catch him at it, and Stiles just laughs to himself and turns around, tapping out a quick promise to remain out of custody and not end up having a run-in with casino security staff. He might also call Derek a spoilsport, but he knows Derek won't be offended.

Stiles opts to walk instead of trying to get a taxi, and is so very thankful for smart phones as he makes his way into a shopping center that has things that he can both afford and not look out of place in. He spends what feels like forever trying to figure out exactly what he's going to buy, because it occurs to him after a couple of minutes eyeing some different plaid overshirts that whatever he gets is probably going to be what he gets married in, and joke or not, his mother would probably roll over in her grave if he stood at the altar in something that wasn't at least halfway decent. 

There's sort of a weird wave of nostalgia and ache that washes over Stiles at the thought of his mother. He'd always figured she'd be there on his wedding day. Then again, he'd thought a lot of things. He'd once been sure it would be Lydia he'd be marrying, back when he was a lot younger, and he figured she'd just tell him what to wear. He'd figured both parents would be there, and he and his mom would get to dance, and his dad would eventually dance with whoever he was marrying, and he'd dance with his mother-in-law. There would be photographers, and flowers, and a cake he'd hope like hell would be mostly chocolate, and he'd actually pull off some sort of dance moves that weren't hellaciously awkward.

None of that is going to happen tonight. And if he's totally honest, he's not sure any of it will ever happen, period. He's already lost his opportunity for a lot of it, no matter who he marries for real, later. And that's if he gets married for real at all. 

Crap, how did this depressing stuff sneak up on him?

Stiles shakes himself out of it. Yeah, this isn't a real wedding, like a _real_ , real wedding. But that doesn't mean he can't do it with a bit of style or thought. He's always been sure that when he did get married, he'd be doing it with someone who made him happy, who did more than just put up with him. It's cheesy as hell, but he'd always seen his parents and how happy they were together, before his mom got sick, and figured whoever he ended up with would be someone who, well, completed him. 

He pauses with his hand on a pair of tan slacks and wonders if Derek had thought the same thing. 

Stiles has no idea what Derek's parents' marriage had been like. Had it been happy? Rocky? Had it had to do more with love, or with werewolf-style politics? He likes to think that Derek's parents had been as happy together as his own parents were. And he wonders if Talia Hale would take Derek out back somewhere and Alpha her son into submission and yank him out of this situation, or if she'd shrug and tell him to at least have fun.

"Nope, we're shutting down that line of thought," Stiles mutters to himself. "This is an exercise in impulsiveness and recklessness, without all the unpleasant consequences. Not the time for soul-searching our feelings on the sanctity of marriage. If celebrities can have three-hour-long marriages, then so can anyone else." He takes a couple of pairs of pants and a couple of shirts back towards the dressing room and ignores the weird look the sales guy is giving him. "Besides. I bet in another week or two, we'll all be facing some fucking vampire or fairies or whatever, and I'll at least get to die with one major life milestone down."

Yay, perspective?

He gets out of the store with a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt, plus something a little more fashionable for later this evening. He wants to look at least presentable for Derek later, because let's face it, whatever the hell Derek shows up in is going to make him look hot. He could wear a burlap sack and still have people salivating. Stiles will make do with looking 'pretty okay.' But hell if he's wearing full-length pants or any sort of shirt with buttons as he walks around Vegas in the heat of the day.

It's been just under an hour since he's left the hotel, and Stiles makes the call to head back to the hotel to drop his purchases off, shower, and change before heading out to explore a little before tonight. He wants to walk down the Strip and see a bunch of the themed casinos and hotels and the street performers, but he'd rather not do it smelling like an old gym sock. Plus, this way, he doesn't have to carry around a bag all afternoon.

When he gets back to the room, he actually makes the effort to hang up his new clothes in the closet before walking into the bathroom. He's busy wondering if Derek will go for an Elvis impersonator as their officiant when he steps through the door, realizing belatedly that the bathroom isn't empty. He hits a cloud of steam, suddenly processes that the water in the shower is running, and sees the vaguest of Derek-shaped outlines through the frosted glass door of the shower. "Shit, sorry, dude. Didn't realize you were in here," Stiles calls, about-facing and darting back into the bedroom area to wait his turn. Hopefully, Derek won't be too pissed. 

Derek emerges from the bathroom maybe ten minutes later, while Stiles is celebrating beating yet another few levels of Candy Crush, putting him a good one hundred and twenty-six levels above Scott, and still eighty-something ahead of Isaac. "All yours," Derek says as he walks by, heading for the bag on the side of the bed that Stiles hadn't noticed. 

Stiles stands up, meaning to say a quick thanks before heading into the bathroom, and nearly falls over. Derek's wandered out of the bathroom with one towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and another flung over his left shoulder. And hot damn if he doesn't look fantastic. Stiles has noticed hot guys for years by this point, has hit on several, and has even hooked up with a couple. But he's still never been with someone as hot as Derek. He's pretty sure he never will be, either, because Derek has a ridiculous level of attractiveness going, and it may be werewolf genetics, but still. Way out of Stiles's league.

Doesn't mean he can't appreciate it, though. And this would be far from the first time he's done so, though he's usually able to keep his mouth from hanging open. Of course, Derek doesn't usually walk around in front of him in nothing more than a towel, either.

"Thanks," Stiles says, his face hot, and dashes past Derek into the bathroom. "Fuck me," he moans into his hands once the door's shut. He huffs and starts stripping down. "No, really. Please. Go ahead." It's not until he's stepping under the water in the shower stall that he realizes he's actually going to have to kiss Derek tonight. Because they're getting married. For an evening, anyway. "Better make that one kiss count, Stilinski," he mutters to himself as he adjusts the water a little cooler than usual. 

As if seeing Derek in a towel wasn't awkward, Stiles opens the door from the bathroom into the suite to find Derek standing just outside, his hand raised as if he was a second from knocking, and the forward momentum he has going is too great to keep him from bumping into Derek, who's now wearing a new-looking pair of jeans and a short-sleeved Henley in a olive green color. 

And Stiles is, of course, wearing only a towel. Because he'd left his bag of new stuff sitting on one of the chairs in the room.

Derek's eyes widen just a little, and Stiles winces, seeing the dark streak he's left across Derek's shirt with his wet hair. "Sorry. Um. Shit," he says, brushing at it like that'll help matters.

Derek catches his wrist with one hand, the one that had been raised to knock on the door. "Stiles." He doesn't sound angry, or even slightly irritated, and Stiles looks up from Derek's chest to see Derek smiling softly at him. "It's just water. It'll be dry in a couple of minutes. Here, I was just going to toss you this." He shakes his other hand just a little and Stiles can see it's the bag of his clothing he'd left outside by mistake. 

"Oh. Yeah, thanks." He offers Derek an awkward kind of smile. And then they're both just standing there for a second, and Stiles can feel his heartbeat speed up a little, because Derek still has his fingers curled loosely around Stiles's wrist, and it's stupid, but Stiles kind of wants him to stay like that, doesn't want to be let go of. But that's going to make things a lot more awkward, because Stiles is really unfortunately tempted to just try to kiss Derek, to see if he can. He thinks he might actually be allowed, and if that isn't just mind-blowing, he doesn't know what is. "I should, uh, get dressed," Stiles manages after another couple of moments of astonishing self-restraint, and that's what breaks the spell, has Derek letting go and moving backwards like he's just realized they've been touching all this time.

"Yeah, I should probably get back out and finish taking care of a couple of things," Derek says, clearing his throat. "I saw something I think Isaac might like, while I was getting new clothes. And I should get Cora something, while we're here."

"Yeah, she'd probably appreciate that," Stiles agrees, glad he has the bag of clothing to hold onto. "I'll just...be in here. And then I've got some other stuff to do before six."

"Right." Derek nods and heads for the door, and Stiles shuts himself back in the bathroom, holding his breath until he hears the door to the room open and shut.

"So...that just happened," Stiles says to himself, feeling as though he's missed a large opportunity for...something important. But he doesn't know what, and it's probably just sleep deprivation talking, because he's been up for over twenty-four hours now. Come the actual wedding later tonight, Stiles won't even need to have any alcohol to feel drunk—he'll be in similar shape just from lack of sleep. Best get out and see a few of the sights now, then, while he's still coherent.

Vegas is not, as it happens, nearly as awesome as Stiles wants it to be. At least, not out here in the heat, by himself, surrounded by thousands of tourists with kids and cameras and clutching maps. "I totally should have dragged Derek along for this," he mutters to himself as some drunk girl runs right into him and gives him a dirty look, even though _he's_ standing still, watching some guy do magic tricks. He gives up on major sight-seeing for a bit, wandering off in the direction of more shops. Maybe he'll take a cue from Derek and look for souvenirs. He can get something for Scott. And Melissa. And maybe his dad, if he wants to explain that he just randomly decided to take an impromptu trip to Vegas. 

...Maybe just Scott. He'd include Lydia, but he's pretty sure anything she'd really like from this city would cost more than he should really spend this trip.

Problem is, virtually everything Stiles can find, souvenir-wise, has to do with drinking, which is something that's impractical when it comes to werewolves, let alone something Melissa would definitely not approve of, given their ages. Other than that, it's all gambling and showgirls. Stiles finally settles on a coffee mug of Vegas at night, one of those where the picture appears when there's hot liquid inside, when a small storefront across the street catches his eye. 

It's pleasantly cool inside, and not garishly lit. Stiles looks around and sees a number of earring displays that have Vegas-themed designs, and a glass case of what look like customizable charm bracelets. And as far as he can tell, he can afford things in here. He figures it's worth a look around for something for Melissa or even Allison or Lydia, and finds a couple of small jewelry boxes he thinks might be okay. The one that says "My Lucky Charm" on it will probably go to Lydia, who can store a couple of the protective amulets she's acquired in it or something if she doesn't find it so tacky she just trashes it.

Just before he pays, Stiles gets sidetracked by a glass counter full of rings. These aren't gaudy souvenirs, adorned with tiny pairs of dice or poker chips or with things like "lady luck" engraved into them. They're just normal fashion rings. A lot of which could actually pass for mens' wedding bands.

"Did you see anything in here you wanted a closer look at?" the salesman who's been eyeing Stiles for the last fifteen minutes asks, startling the shit out of him with how fast he's moved behind the counter.

"I'm not sure," Stiles hedges. "Maybe, in just a minute?"

"Well, do let me know if there are any questions I can answer. We do have a few diamonds, but if you're not altogether that worried on that front, we have an assortment of cubic zirconia that most women wouldn't be able to tell—"

"I'm not looking for women's rings," Stiles tells him, trying not to be short. Also, he's about ninety-five percent sure Lydia, at least, would be able to spot the difference between a real and fake diamond from ten feet away. "Maybe a men's band or two."

The guy hums, as if it's no real consequence to him. And it's probably not. "We have a rather decent selection of those. Were you looking for any particular style? Big and bold, perhaps?"

Stiles hesitates. He's not entirely sure why he's entertaining this idea. Yeah, he and Derek will be participating in a wedding ceremony by the end of the night, but Stiles is pretty sure they could either get something cheap and temporary from the wedding place, or skip it altogether. Hell, they could get something out of a gumball machine, if it came to it. But hadn't Derek said something about not doing everything cheap and tacky? So what if Stiles springs for rings for this? They can keep them after, as a reminder they went and had a good time, for the hell of it. 

"Not really." He spots one then, towards the far right side of the case. It's a deep blue band, with textured silver edges. It's simple enough, and Stiles thinks it would actually look really good on Derek. It might even be something he could wear after today, on his right hand or something, if he ever decided to wear jewelry. "Can I see that one?"

The sales guy takes it out of the case and hands it over. Stiles turns it over in his hands, tries to see it on Derek's finger. It's inexpensive—stainless steel instead of silver or white gold, according to the sales guy—but durable. "You have it in an eleven?" Stiles asks, as he looks at the other options, just to be safe. He's not one-hundred percent on Derek's ring size, but he knows it's bigger than his own size—and he's lucky enough he knows that, because he hadn't until the class ring rep had flagged him down a few months ago. As long as it doesn't cut off circulation or anything or refuse to go on at all, it'll do for tonight, anyway.

The guy is boxing up Stiles's request when Stiles sees another potential purchase. "What about that one?"

"Instead of the blue?" The sales guy clearly doesn't look thrilled Stiles has let him get so far into wrapping everything up before changing his mind, but Stiles shakes his head.

"No. In addition to. If you have it in a nine." 

"Oh, of course. That's a nice choice, really. It's tungsten, not stainless steel, but it has similar properties to gold. It's also good for those with metal allergies."

Stiles doesn't really care about any of that. "What's the other part of it? The colored part." 

"Abalone inlay."

"Yeah, I'll take that, too. And the jewelry boxes. The rings can be boxed together, but everything else is separate because they're gifts." And then something else hits him. "Actually. Do you do engraving?"

By the time Stiles leaves for the Venetian, it's a few minutes before six. He's got the bags with everyone's gifts in one hand, and the small ring box with both rings tucked deep into one pocket of his shorts. He'd felt good paying for it all, but the closer he gets to his and Derek's shared hotel room, the more he wonders if he's made a stupid decision. From the beginning, this was something meant to be inconsequential. What the hell was significant about a quickie wedding in Las Vegas, really, especially between two people like him and Derek? But something about the act of picking out a set of wedding bands, even if it _is_ just for fun, seems like an important step. He could have just gone with plain gold or silver-looking bands, no personality or meaning to them. But instead he'd picked something he thought would look good on Derek, that Stiles hoped he might like. He realizes as he gets onto the elevator that the band is basically beta-blue, and wants to laugh. Although, the one he'd picked for himself... It makes Stiles realize that he's maybe a bit more into this than he'd originally thought.

The inlay of his own band is mother-of-pearl, a multi-colored iridescent green-blue-gold that had instantly reminded Stiles of Derek's eyes, and that had been what drove him to select it. "I am so fucking screwed here," he mutters, fiddling with his door key card before managing to get it inserted into the reader correctly. Still. They're doing this mostly for Derek, who really needs one damned event in his life to be anything but a source of life-changing angsty drama, and Stiles can get over his crush or whatever it is for that. He is, first and foremost, Derek's friend, and that's what's important. Stiles won't give that up. No fucking way.

The smell of tomato sauce and cheese and pepperoni greets Stiles when he steps into the room, and he finds Derek sprawled on one half of the bed watching TV, a white cardboard box at his side. "Was starting to wonder if you'd decided to back out," Derek says jokingly. But there's something about the look on his face that says it's not _entirely_ a joke, that it was a legitimate concern.

"Nah. Just took a little longer buying some things than expected," Stiles says, tucking his shopping bags into the closet. "Dude. You ate without me?"

Derek shakes his head. "No. Picked it up on my way back. Got a dirty look from a couple of hotel employees. Pretty sure they want you to eat in their restaurants or from room service. Oh well. Hurry up and eat before it gets too cold."

"The only pizza that's too cold is frozen pizza," Stiles informs him. He hops onto the other side of the bed and lifts the lid to find not just half the pizza left, but the whole thing. "You waited?"

Derek smiles, and it's a soft, shy smile that makes Stiles's chest ache a little. "Yeah."

"You're the best," Stiles says earnestly, picking up a slice. "Really."

"Save it for the wedding vows," Derek chuckles, nudging Stiles's shoulder with his own as he grabs his own piece of pizza. 

Stiles laughs, which makes Derek smile even wider, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, and Stiles thinks to himself that whoever ends up with Derek in the long run will be pretty lucky, really. And when Derek dips his head to murmur a joke into Stiles's ear as he reaches for the last slice, Stiles grins, nudges Derek back, and doesn't make an effort to move away when Derek leaves their shoulders pressed together as they watch the rest of the movie that's on.

When Derek gets up later to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, Stiles pulls the rings out of his pocket and looks at them for a few moments before putting them back safely. He's a hopeless sap, he really is. You'd think the reality-check of the whole Lydia fiasco would have taught him a lesson about crushing on people out of your league. But apparently that's one lesson Stiles is unable to really learn. His own tragic flaw, or something.

"I should probably get cleaned up, too," Stiles says after Derek comes back and lounges beside him again. "Did you find a chapel or anything this afternoon?"

"Yeah. They've got a changing room and stuff, and a decent little package for an affordable price. Seems okay. For what it is, and all. So I made a reservation." He offers Stiles a smile, but it's a little weak. "But we can find something else, if you want."

Stiles nods, feeling a little weak himself. "No, that's great." 

He stands up and stretches, meaning to head to the bathroom, but Derek crawls across the bed and stops at the edge, snagging Stiles by the elbow. "Wait."

"What?"

Derek tugs him gently back, raised up onto his knees on the high mattress, and lifts a hand tentatively. "You have some...here..." Stiles just stares at him, confused, and then Derek's hand cups his cheek, his thumb lightly swiping over the corner of Stiles's mouth, and Stiles makes a soft, surprised noise. They stay like that, staring into each other's eyes, for what feels like forever. Derek's hand stays put, a warm, gentle weight against Stiles's skin, and Stiles feels a little dizzy until he remembers to breathe. He's just about to say something, maybe ask Derek to just kiss him already, but there's a shrill jingling noise from the nightstand that makes them both jump, and Derek's turning away to silence the ringing hotel phone while Stiles makes for the bathroom, needing to get himself under control.

They'd almost kissed. Stiles was sure of it. This had started off as something inconsequential, just a lark, and now there have been enough moments with Derek where Stiles has to wonder if Derek still thinks of it that way. Because Stiles is suddenly sure that there is, at the very least, some sort of _potential_ here. And he thinks Derek might just feel it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see the rings Stiles chose, the one he got for Derek is [this one](http://ak1.ostkcdn.com/images/products/6367831/West-Coast-Jewelry-Two-tone-Stainless-Steel-Mens-Ridged-Edge-Wedding-Band-54756ea7-98f4-43c6-9b52-1a74cc63ad12_320.jpg), and [ this](http://ak1.ostkcdn.com/images/products/6407498/78/562/Mens-Tungsten-Carbide-Abalone-Inlay-Ring-P14016700.jpg) is the one he selected for himself.


End file.
